


There's Always Something Happening

by materialism



Series: Perpendicular [4]
Category: Paramore
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fights, M/M, Makeup Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/materialism/pseuds/materialism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How exactly does one figure out a shared life?</p><p>(Taylor and Zac have a fight.  The solution isn't so simple.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Always Something Happening

**Author's Note:**

> fights are never fun. fights with significant others suck more. and when things are long term, they're about things that are more complex than he-said she-said. i wanted to explore more of perpendicular 'verse, which i can't seem to stay away from. (i might be projecting just a little bit here. shh, don't tell.) 
> 
> this takes place a few months after the events of "even though you are my guy". t&z are both 26. title is from "our house" by madness, which i've had stuck in my head for the past week. 
> 
> disclaimer: none of the situations in this work of fiction are meant to resemble real life events. the characters portrayed in this story do not belong to me; they belong to themselves alone. if you are anyone who i've written about, make friends with the back button, don't google yourself, and have a lovely evening with your significant other. 
> 
> as always, thank you for taking the time to read this. enjoy.

Zac doesn’t even know how this started.

Well, it’s probably a few things. After all, it can’t ever just be one simple thing in their long, sordid, perfect but imperfect relationship. He’s observed his friends grow more and more agitated with their partners, but he’s never understood it full until now. It seems like tension has been crawling up his back, up his legs and his spine and wrapped its demon arms around his neck. 

Taylor’s leaving for tour next week. Again. It feels like they just came off a tour and what has Zac had, two weeks with him? Zac loves Hayley like another sister, but her “I love being on the road” attitude has to stop. Zac doesn’t miss the road at all - session drumming has been the perfect medium to give him security but also pursue music. But he’s on the precipice of a recording schedule again, and even home sweet home is driving him nuts. It would have been nice to actually have Taylor home for more than one night in a row.

This is because most of what precious little time Taylor was home was spent with his homophobic grandfather, which is _another_ thing that’s bothering Zac. There’s part of it that Zac completely understands - his grandpa has cancer, likely terminal. What’s bullshit is how Taylor’s handling it. Supposedly Zac doesn’t love him enough to show it, but while Zac locks the closet door shut, the door is a curtain for Taylor, free to go in and out as he pleases. And that’s completely fine, of course - not. It’s fucking bullshit. His grandpa knows who Zac is, but he has no idea that they’re dating, because Zac’s not allowed to come to the hospital. 

(“People will ask questions and then he’ll ask questions and then -”

“I get it. It’s fine. We’ll find time for each other.”

“How did I ever get so lucky to have a guy like you?”)

He likes Taylor’s grandpa. It worries him that he’s sick and he likely won’t get better. This isn’t fair in any way whatsoever. It’s hard for Zac to be sympathetic when he doesn’t know what to be sympathetic about exactly. It hurts him to get the play by play from Taylor hours after the fact, when he’s too tired to really tell the story. But there’s little Zac can really do about that when he’s forced to be not even on the sidelines, but in the car parked a mile away from the stadium.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to think about that today. They’re having a day all to themselves, which is exciting. They’re going to ride their bikes around the lake by their house, then lounge around together (maybe take a shower... together?). Zac’s going to cook, then they’re probably gonna play a board game or something, and then they get to go to bed. The last time they had sex was a few days ago, but it was really just for both of them to get their rocks off. Zac spent the rest of his day wandering the house and entertaining a fantasy Taylor sweaty and desperate beneath him as they went slow, Zac mapping out every inch of his body with his lips and hands. It would be nice to have that actually realized.

When Zac walks into their kitchen, he sees Taylor’s strong, firm backside as he faces the window over the sink. He’s wearing his nice jeans, the ones with the red stitching in the back pocket, his thick thighs and ass filling them out nicely. Zac’s heart is already beating in anticipation of what will definitely transpire tonight. 

“Good morning,” Zac says as he hugs Taylor from behind, kissing behind his ear.

“Hey baby,” Taylor says, somewhat distractedly. He must be on the same wavelength. 

“Excited about today?” Zac says, hooking his thumbs in Taylor’s belt loops. “I’ve been thinking about it all week...”

“About that,” Taylor says, shrugging out of his embrace. Oh no. “We’re finding out if the treatment worked or not.”

Zac doesn’t even bother keeping the disappointment out of his voice. He wants Taylor to feel bad. “Oh. Okay.”

“I’m really sorry,” Taylor says. “I should have told you but I kept putting it off. Tomorrow?”

He fucking knew and let Zac get excited about a day that wasn’t going to happen? “I’m recording tomorrow. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Taylor says, quirking his lip, like he actually feels bad or something. “Soon, I promise. I mean it. This is really important to me.” 

“How about I come with you this time?” Zac says. 

“Love, we’ve had this conversation,” Taylor says, like he’s speaking to a child. Zac resents the hell out of that. “It just wouldn’t be good.”

“I know we have, it’s just,” Zac says. “I know him too, you know? I’d like to see him at least once before he goes -”

“You don’t know that he’s going to die that soon,” Taylor says, his voice taking on a sharper tone. “You can see him after -”

“You don’t know if he’s going to live much longer,” Zac counters. Two can play at this game. 

“Well. I want him to live as long as he can,” Taylor says. “It would probably kill him if he knew about our relationship.”

“I hope it does,” Zac says under his breath, which he immediately regrets, especially with the look that crosses Taylor’s face.

Taylor does a double take. His voice is dangerously low when he speaks. “What did you say?”

“You heard what I said,” Zac says, because even if it was impulsive, he wants Taylor to know how upset he is. This is a script they’ve followed before, when they were much younger, but old habits die hard, he supposes.

“Wow,” Taylor says, laughing bitterly and shaking his head. “I thought you were past this, but I guess you’ll always be a selfish fucking child.”

“If I’m a selfish child, then you’re a hypocrite,” Zac says, fire boiling in his veins from that comment. “You bitch and moan and drive me crazy with guilt and then when I show you how much I love you, when I correct myself, you throw that in my face and literally pretend I don’t exist!”

“Fucking cry me a river,” Taylor sneers. “Poor Zac and his hurt feelings. I’m having a really hard time with my relative who is _dying_ , and instead of supporting me, which is what I need, you’re thinking about yourself and your problems. I can’t believe you.”

“When are you around for me to support you?” Zac asks. “You tell me not to come to the hospital with you, and I love you and your family, so I stay behind. And I pick up things for you, and call you and send you text messages and you never respond. How can I help you if I can’t find you?”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not around because you’re like this?” Taylor says. “It’s this fucking cycle. I explain to you one thing, you agree with it. Suddenly you don’t like it and everything is my fault. And if you’re helping me, it’s passive aggressive, like you’re so gracious and kind for being there.”

“I’m not trying to be passive aggressive, I swear to you,” Zac says. “I just don’t understand why his opinion about this one thing that literally everyone else in your family accepts matters _so much_.”

Taylor’s voice gets gravely low, serious in a way he rarely is. “My grandfather means the world to me. He’s blood, Zac. I can make you go away. My family is with me forever.”

Zac has been always been a rough and tumble kid, always in a scuffle over something stupid or another. He’s been slapped, punched, kicked anywhere you can think of, and has the scars to prove it. Even his nose is fucked up from a fight in seventh grade. But nothing, no blow in his whole life could have prepared him for the physical pain those words just inflicted. _I can make you go away._ Zac’s logical mind is trying to tell him that he just means to emphasize how close his family is. His emotional mind, a better storyteller overall, is taunting him with suggestions that Taylor’s been thinking about this. And why wouldn’t he? Zac is selfish. This all just puts the nail in the coffin.

“I’m going to go upstairs and practice,” Zac manages to say. There aren’t tears, though he feels the clench in his chest.

Taylor’s features are etched with devastation. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about what he said. Maybe he was just speaking from his frustration. Maybe... it’s too much to think about right now. His mind is clouded. His heart is heavy.

“Love, I didn’t mean - please,” Taylor says when Zac is already halfway up the stairs. 

“You have to go. Your family is waiting for you.” With that he goes up the rest of the stairs, making a beeline to the practice kit in their... Taylor’s, really, spare room. 

As he grabs sticks and adjusts his seat, he thinks he hears scattered footsteps and the front door slamming. Shaking his head of the residual thoughts, he counts off four with his sticks and starts. He starts off with a song that’s been looping in his head for days now - the master got fucked up on this past recording, so he’s going back in to lay down beats yet again. For once, it’s something a bit heavier than country, something he can channel his aggression into. He’s never want to hit Taylor in his life, even when they were just friends. The same is true now, but he wants to lay into something and make an impact. 

Usually banished to the basement where his own equipment is, Zac can finally play this kit because no one is home. Maybe he should start calling it Taylor’s home. After all, this is Taylor’s drum kit. Zac likes it because the sound is a little different, the toms a little more worn out. If Taylor wants to break up with him, one last go is a nice thing. Moving his own shit out will be hard, but he can manage. Wouldn’t be the first time his kit was in storage for a bit. As his thoughts wander, his playing gets more aggressive, his cymbals rattling and shaking from the impact. He’s snapped out of his thoughts by both his sticks splintering at the same time, almost as if he’s in a cartoon.

“Maybe I should take a shower now,” Zac says aloud to no one. The soundproof walls swallow any sort of impact the sound could have had in the otherwise hollow halls. A fucked up metaphor, if anything.

The shower is nothing short of pathetic, a cool spray of water for the late August heat. He’s too sad to really do much other than go through the motions of washing his hair and his body. He’s too sad to jack off. That would be a funny band name, he thinks, and wants to text Taylor after this with just that and a silly emoji but... no. He’s doing serious things right now, and Zac doesn’t want to intrude with his idea. Taylor’s right. He’s selfish for not understanding about Taylor’s time off. How could he be so blind to see? Hell, the tour might have to be cancelled because of a death. Would Zac be allowed to be supportive then? He wants to be there so much, hold Taylor’s hand and be there for his family. He wishes there was some way he could say all of that without coming off as self absorbed. It’s all so confusing. 

Since it’s so hot out, Zac wishes he had the option of wearing nothing, but their - Taylor’s - this house has a lot of windows. He opts for basketball shorts and an Op Ivy shirt - technically his, kidnapped by Taylor when they were kids - and looks for a spot to read. A lot of people think he’s brain dead, but now that he’s not required to read, he actually likes doing it. Hopefully this book will help him out - it’s a book all about imaginary creatures. It’s a little over his head, he thinks, but it’s enough to keep him distracted. Taylor will stay at Justin’s house or something, and Zac will try to ignore the devastation clenching his organs with a two fisted grip, and he’ll sleep on the couch having successfully not cried all day. Cool. 

Before he even gets to open the book, though, there’s a rattling at the door. It’s probably someone looking for cans to college or a neighborhood kid playing a trick. Zac would be able to handle either of those. They keep cans and a baseball bat by the door for a reason - warding off the usuals. Their - Taylor’s - the people who live in this neighborhood are surprisingly kind and accepting of them. He’s pretty sure they call them “the queers next door” but no one bothers them. They’ll probably be confused when it’s just Taylor soon enough. Zac realistically knows that he’s not chopped liver right now. But it’s only a matter of time.

There’s a peep hole in this door, but Zac’s not going to bother checking it - the kid would be too short to be visible. As he opens the door, though, he sees the outline of a familiar mop of hair and solid body, chest heaving from what Zac knows is panic. When Zac focuses his eyes, Taylor... well, Taylor looks like hell. Beautiful hell, but hell nonetheless. His face is splotchy and his eyes are red, like he’s been crying for hours. His grandfather is probably going to die soon. Zac wants to hold him but he’s frozen to the spot.

They both stare at each other for a few seconds before Taylor steps past Zac and into the house, closing the door behind him. 

“Follow me?” Taylor asks, barely a whisper. 

It’s the voice he uses when they’re at their most intimate, pressed oh-so-close from head to toe, reverent. Zac has no choice but to nod and follow. He’s tempted to grab Taylor’s hand and thread their fingers together, but he knows better. He has no idea what Taylor has in store for him as he motions for Zac to sit down. And then Taylor... does not sit down - is he on both his knees? 

“Aren’t you still supposed to be at the hospital?” Zac asks. 

Taylor shakes his head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened this morning. Right after we found out, I came back.”

“Babe, you didn’t have to -”

“I love you,” Taylor says, clasping both of Zac’s hands between his palms. “So much. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Zac is tempted to just forgive him of everything immediately, to throw his arms around him and never let go, but he can’t. Taylor has to learn from this. “What you said about making me go away - that really hurt me.”

“It was a horrible thing to say,” Taylor says, shuffling forward so he’s partly on Zac’s lap. “On the drive there I started to see your side. I’ve been hurting, but I have too much pride to let you help me, and that came out in the worst of ways.”

“I feel like I spend so much time missing you when you’re away,” Zac says. “And when you’re here... it’s not that I want to keep you to myself, it’s the opposite. I just want to be there, for you, with you, no matter what -”

“They gave him three weeks,” Taylor blurts out.

“Fuck, babe, I’m really sorry,” Zac says, even though he kind of figured that would be the outcome. He threads his fingers with Taylor’s and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

Taylor takes a long pause. “So I... I told him. I couldn’t not.”

“About what?” Zac says. He knows the answer but he wants Taylor to say it out loud. 

“About you. About me. About us being together.”

“How did that go?”

Taylor smiles. “He doesn’t necessarily get it, but the family vouched for how happy I am and that made him happy.”

“That’s... that’s really good,” Zac says. 

“I want you there with me, if that’s okay with you. He wants to approve - I mean, like, as a boyfriend.”

Zac laughs and squeezes Taylor’s hand. “I want to be there with you. Now get off your knees, you weirdo, I like those jeans.”

Taylor doesn’t say anything as he slides onto the couch in one fluid motion, straddling Zac and pushing him into the cushions as he kisses him soundly.

“We haven’t kissed yet today,” he says. “That’s no good.”

“I mean, jury’s out on that,” Zac says, but he’s leaning up and locking their lips together, hands resting in the dip of Taylor’s waist as they both smile into the kiss.

“I never want to make you go away,” Taylor says. “You’re my forever.” 

If it were anyone else, Zac would be rolling his eyes. But Taylor’s looking down at him as if he hung up the moon, and his body is warm and sturdy. His beard is well chiseled but not excessive, Zac’s favorite style, framing his smile. (Okay, and it feels amazing on the skin between Zac’s thighs whenever he explores down there.) He slides his hands under Taylor’s shirt and starts scaling his fingers up the smooth skin beneath, feeling the occasional birthmark. The sea is calming - or, at least, Taylor is a rescue boat. 

“I love you, too, by the way,” Zac says. He gives Taylor another kiss, and another, and another. “Are you still going on tour?”

“Ever the appropriate questions,” Taylor says, letting out a sigh as Zac’s fingers trace circles on his back. “We’ve called it off for the time being. Hayls and Jerm want me to be with my family, probably gonna stop by tomorrow for a day or so.”

“I’m glad they’re cool with being off tour,” Zac says. “I mean they’d be terrible friends if they weren’t, but -”

Taylor dips down, kissing Zac deeply. When he pulls away, he smiles, dreamy. “On a more basic note, we’ve had sex like twice since I got back and that’s unacceptable. We should be having it twice a day.”

“Wanna make up for it?” Zac, dragging his hand down to the waistband of Taylor’s jeans. 

“There’s nothing I’d rather be doing,” Taylor says. “Get your shorts down.”

Taylor climbs off his lap as Zac quickly obliges. He’s happy he’s not wearing jeans like Taylor is, because soon his whole downstairs operation is around his ankles. Taylor gets on his knees in front of him, already panting, lips red and shiny. Zac’s glad he’s not seventeen anymore, because that sight would be enough to get him in serious trouble. Taylor pushes his legs wider as he starts kissing the inside of his thigh, feather light and frankly fucking torturous. When he sucks on a patch of skin, Zac lets out a loud moan and is grateful that he lives in Taylor’s house. Or is it...

“Babe, would you consider this your house?” he asks, biting back a whine when Taylor teases his balls.

“Oh yeah, talk dirty to me,” Taylor says, taking Zac’s cock in his hand and laughing when Zac swats at him. “Well, considering half of the crap accumulated here is yours and you’re the only person who can cook, I’d say it’s mine and yours. Our house.”

“In the middle of our street,” Zac sings to himself, and they both smile. “I’m glad to know my cooking is what keeps me around - mm, yeah, like that.”

“There’s also the part where it feels wrong if I don’t wake up next to you, but that’s just a footnote,” Taylor says, winking before going down so Zac can’t properly react.

Zac loves when Taylor gives head, like, more than most things on this earth, but he sincerely hopes this is just a precursor. Zac’s not in the mood for fast and furious - rather, he wants to move with Taylor nice and slow, reveling in the touch against each other’s skin. He jolts when Taylor sucks harder than before, probably to keep him paying attention. He knows Zac too well, knows how he sometimes gets lost in feelings and thoughts. He’s running his hands up and down Zac’s thighs as he bobs his head, his touch a tingle on Zac’s skin.

“The bed is cold when you’re not here,” Zac says, threading his fingers through Taylor’s hair. It’s just starting to grow beyond shortness, curls springing just a bit. “It’s wrong for me too.” 

Taylor lifts off and just stares, leaving Zac high and dry. There are so many things in his eyes, so many possibilities that it’s hard to pick one. He sticks out his tongue. “Can we go upstairs? I kind of want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.”

“Please,” Zac says. “Should I put my shorts back on...?”

Taylor’s dusting off his knees as he makes a pondering face. “Nah. I want you to look ridiculous.”

Zac must give him some kind of look because he bursts into peals of wicked laughter as he runs away and up the stairs. For good measure, he takes off his shirt - if he’s going to look ridiculous, he has to commit. He tears after him, trying to ignore his dick bobbing before eventually just holding it against him. After a brief moment to catch his breath, he walks over to their bedroom and finds Taylor shirtless and just starting to tug down his pants.

“Aw, man,” Taylor says. “I wanted you to come up and for me to be sprawled on the bed, all inviting and stuff. Also, I like this set up you have going on.”

“Thanks,” Zac says. “Well, that means I get to undress you, and I think that’s cool enough. Lie down.”

The second Taylor is comfortably on his back, Zac tugs down Taylor’s jeans, bit by bit. He’s not angry anymore, but this is the most subtle, kind punishment he can give. From the way Taylor whines, it certainly does the trick. He nearly kicks Zac in the face with how furiously he tries to kick his pants off, so Zac does the rest for him, throwing the pants to some corner of the room. When he curls his fingers into the waistband of Taylor’s boxers (they’re actually his, which Zac finds sweet), he pauses and looks up at Taylor.

“How about you do this for me?” Zac says. “Get some lube while you’re at it? I want to watch.”

“You’re such a creepy voyeur,” Taylor says, but obliges. He doesn’t go nearly as fast as Zac wishes he would, but seeing all that pale skin waiting to be touched is well worth the lack of a show. Zac is running his hand up the outside of Taylor’s thigh when a bottle obstructs his vision.

“Here ya go!” Taylor exclaims, grinning. He pushes the bottle a little closer and shakes it in Zac’s face.

“You’re so... you’re so something,” Zac says, batting his hand away. He looks at the bottle in Taylor’s hand and wonders. “You know what? I changed my mind.”

“Do you, like, not want to have sex?” Taylor says, face switching to concerned. “Because that’s cool if you don’t. I’m always down with cuddling.”

“I do still want to have sex, though thank you for asking,” Zac says, leaning up to kiss Taylor. “It’s just...”

“What?” Taylor asks. “Don’t drag this out, c’mon...”

“I can drag it out as long as I like, but I’m not going to,” Zac says. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Well you can go -” Taylor starts, but his eyes widen when he realizes what Zac’s actually says. “Do you mean...?”

“I wanna see how long you can do it until you’re begging...” Zac pauses, before laughing. and talking between giggles. “That sounds like something out of a porno, I’m sorry, babe -”

“I was gonna say,” Taylor says, laughing even harder, if that’s possible. “We’ll downgrade you from voyeur to peeping tom that managed to get in the house.”

“If I’m a peeping, go on and give me a show, jackass,” Zac says, sitting cross-legged, waiting.

Taylor rolls his eyes and shakes his head, laughter reduced to mere amused huffs under his breath. He squeezes a bit of lube onto two of his fingers and shifts until he’s lying almost flat on the bed. He spreads his legs wide, planting his feet on the bed; Zac’s cheeks heat up when he realizes it’s all for his viewing pleasure. When Taylor reaches between his legs and starts just massaging, Zac is hard in an instant. He wants to touch himself, but he also wants to see how long he can torture himself with the scene before him. 

“Holy hell,” Zac whispers, but apparently it’s loud enough for Taylor to laugh.

“I haven’t even gotten started, you horndog,” he says, but he sounds almost as turned on as Zac.

His hand is partially hidden, so Zac can only sort of see when he slips a finger in, but Taylor’s little noise is enough to let him know. He moves forward on the bed and spreads his legs wider so Zac has a better view when he starts to move his finger. Eyes closed and mouth open, his hips move with every thrust of his finger, staccato sounds escaping his lips no matter how hard he tries to stifle them. His cock lies flat on his belly, hard and untouched as it shifts with the motion of his hips and hand. Fuck, it’s overwhelming. Suddenly, though, he’s taking his fingers away and sitting up. When he speaks, it takes Zac a few seconds to realize he’s talking to him.

“Another one?” Taylor asks, dazed and smiling. “Do you want to see that?”

“Yes,” Zac asks. “But only if you want to.”

Taylor doesn’t say anything, just nods, putting a little more lube on his fingers. When he settles on his back, he slides his hand back real slow, dragging his hand down across his cock. Zac watches as he crooks his fingers and presses up. His loud gasp sends a shiver down Zac’s spine. His breaths quicken as he fucks himself faster and harder, writhing in his spot on the bed. Without realizing, Zac has started stroking himself - but how could he not? How have they been dating this long and Zac has never seen this? He gradually slows to a stop and when he pulls his fingers away, Zac whines involuntarily.

“Need you,” Taylor says, the voice Zac hears in his head when he misses him. “Zac, please -”

“Yeah, yeah, just a sec,” Zac says.

He’s fumbling around for the lube, unable tear his eyes away from Taylor, who’s spread out and inviting, barely audible pants as his chest heaves. When he finds the bottle, he squeezes slightly more than necessary on his hand because of this distraction. Oh well, things will be more slippery than usual when he slicks himself up. He pushes Taylor’s thighs back just a bit and catches his eye.

“You ready?” He feels so sure yet unsure. When it’s been a while, the gaps between tours, between Zac’s sessions, it feels new all over again. 

“Yeah,” Taylor says, spreading his legs just a little more. His certainty is enough to calm Zac down.

It takes a few tries for Zac to get the position right, but once he does, he rocks slowly, taking his time to open Taylor us. Taylor’s a little more into the fast and rough, but this is Zac’s bag - the cheesy stuff that happens at the end of every romance novel his mom hid under her side of the bed when they were kids. (Zac might have read one, or two, or twelve. He was an avid reader as a kid. Sure.) He thought he’d be over seeing Taylor writhing beneath him by now, a year and a half into finally getting their shit together, but he’s not. His moves are languid and sensual... or so he thinks, because Taylor just smacked his arm. He’s looking up at Zac with an annoyed expression; he’d probably be pouting if he didn’t still have weird hangups about masculinity shit.

“Are you being all starry eyed again?” Taylor says. “You’re putting me to sleep here.”

“I’m sorry for loving you,” Zac says, sticking his tongue out. He thrusts his hips hard and Taylor lets out a surprised cough. “And thinking you’re all good looking and stuff.”

“There are many ways you can show me you love me,” Taylor says. “Your option at the moment is fucking me senseless. Then you can tell me I’m pretty afterward.”

“Where’s that paper bag I keep around here so I can put it over your head?” Zac says, but he’s picking up his pace as he takes Taylor’s cock in his hand.

“I know you like it slow,” Taylor says. “I’m a brat - I’m sorry -”

“Stop, stop,” Zac says before slamming into Taylor so hard they both let out a little yelp.

“That was a little rough,” Taylor says, wincing. “In more ways than one.” 

Zac leans down and gives Taylor an apology kiss. “I’m sorry, baby. I just can’t get the rhythm. I don’t know why.”

“We’re just a sorry bunch,” Taylor says, giving him another kiss. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it right.” 

Zac means to get back up, he really does, means to give it another go. But Taylor’s body is so warm and pliable, so comfy... He experimentally shifts his hips forward and is rewarded with a gasp from Taylor. This is it. When he starts to move again, things finally _click_ , Zac’s hips and chest flush against Taylor, whose desperate whines are almost overwhelmed by the creaking of their mattress (in their bedroom, in their house). He’s slick with sweat, his ass and thighs thick enough to take the hit, the slap of skin against skin cutting through what feels like a layer of condensation. Best of all, they’re both equally desperate for the other, with that tight heat driving Zac forward over and over again.

“I want to talk about the house,” Taylor says, immediately followed by a shout as Zac finds his G-spot. He clutches at Zac’s back and digs his nails in.

“Okay, baby, we’ll talk about it later,” Zac growls, now driving into that spot with every thrust. He is not in any coherent space at the moment. 

At this point, he’s straight up biting Taylor’s neck, dragging his teeth across Taylor’s exposed throat and feeling the vibration of his moaning through the skin. He feels his orgasm like a bullet in the distance; Zac knows Taylor well enough to know his meek whimpers as a telltale sign. He’s pounding away, his mounting frustration only creating a tension rising like heat, when he apparently hits the jackpot in Taylor. Taylor, ever a screamer, lets out a yell that sends everything crashing down. Zac’s orgasm is the speeding bullet hitting his chest, a residual shock of gunpowder spilling through his body. He rides it out still inside Taylor, but when he goes to pull out, Taylor shakes his head.

“Stay in me,” Taylor says, jerking himself off. Damn, he didn’t come at the same time. “I want to come with us still together.”

Zac sits up a little as he watches Taylor jack himself furiously, biting back his little anticipatory noises. When he comes, he clenches around Zac’s cock; Zac wishes he was hard just so he could come again from the feel of that. Taylor was right - he’s so happy they were together for both their climaxes. He’s almost happy they didn’t come at the same time - had they, he wouldn’t be able to watch Taylor come apart in a way he’s probably needed since he got back from tour. When he’s absolutely sure that Taylor is done, he pulls out and lies down beside him, opening his arm for Taylor to shuffle into.

“So, about the house,” Taylor says when he’s nestled safe in Zac’s arms.

“Give a guy a second to recover,” Zac says, partially because he’s wiped, but also because he has no idea what that even means.

“Hear me out,” Taylor says. “I thought about what you said before, if it was my house or ours.”

“Yeah, you said it was ours,” Zac says, hoping it solves things. Why is this conversation happening right now?

“In everything but title,” Taylor says. “It’s all paid for but it’s in my name. I’ve been thinking about putting your name on the deed for a while now.”

Zac feels a little overwhelmed that Taylor has been thinking about it at all, let alone for an extended period of time. 

Taylor continues, unaware of Zac’s inner argument. “If your name is also on it, then if something were to happen -”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Zac says, squeezing Taylor to his chest.

“On the off chance that something happens to me, you can still live here,” Taylor says. “You’re my partner and I want the law to respect that we both consider this our address.”

“So this means you don’t think I’m a freeloading jerk?” Zac says, trying to pass it off as a joke but coming off pathetic. What a needy, jerklike thing to say. He’s such an asshole.

“Don’t even joke around about that,” Taylor says, gravely serious. “Maybe I bought this house by myself, but it was just a place I slept in between tours before we got together. Now it’s actually a home.” 

Despite being the feelings guy, Zac tends to keep it upbeat and dry for the most part. Yet Taylor has this amazing ability to reduce Zac to a blubbering wreck on the regular. Zac’s biting his lip to make sure the tears don’t come flooding down, but he must sniffle or something, because Taylor starts laughing.

“You’re such a softie deep down,” he says. “It’s so ridiculous. Not a tough bone in your body.”

“All the better to crush you with,” Zac says. He squishes Taylor’s face into the junction between chest and shoulder. “Crush, crush, crush.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks down and realizes Taylor’s fallen asleep in his arms, just like a cheesy romance book. As Zac himself settles down for a much needed rest, he grins to himself. Now here’s the perfect scene from a cheesy romance novel. He can get behind this. 

-

“So you’re the boyfriend now, huh?” Taylor’s grandfather says.

Today’s the big day and, well, it’s not nearly as bad as Zac was building it up to be. Grandpa York looks tired and on his last legs, but is as vivacious in the mind as he’s always been. The man has always been a warmth in his mind - what little he remembers of him anyway, as Taylor really was his world back then. Why wouldn’t he be the same person now? Still, he understands Taylor’s fear. Grandpa is a man of his time, when men and women went together, and it’s a lot for even his own middle aged parents to deal with.

“Yeah, well,” Zac says, chuckling affably, but he’s terrified on the inside.

“Just a second,” Grandpa York says, smiling.

He turns to Taylor, calmly picks up his newspaper, and smacks him straight in the face with it. 

“What was that for?” Taylor says.

“First of all, you’ve been queer as a three dollar bill since you were a kid, so why do you think I’d give a shit about that?” Grandpa York says. “Secondly, you should have told me that this is the fella you’ve been keeping secrets about.”

Taylor splutters; Zac is delighted. “How did you - what -”

“Your mother told me you had a boyfriend,” Grandpa York says. “I didn’t know it was the boy you mooned over when you were a teenager. Such a nice young man.”

“Thank you,” Zac says. 

“You’re welcome,” Grandpa York says.

They exchange smiles. Taylor looks utterly miserable. 

“Everyone knew,” Taylor says. “Everyone knew and no one told me.”

“Welcome to the family,” Grandpa York says, ignoring Taylor’s lamentation. “I’m sorry I’m making my exit pretty soon, but if you’re in for the long haul, God bless you.”

“I’ll need all the divine intervention I can get,” Zac says, nodding gravely and winking.

Taylor takes the paper from Grandpa York’s hand and hits Zac in the face with it. “Alright, I think we’re going to have to head out now, Paw. Back to our house.”

“I love you, kiddo,” Grandpa York says as Taylor leans down to hug him, smacking a big wet kiss on his cheek.

Zac extends a hand. “Nice to meet you - well, meet you in this way.”

Grandpa York takes his hand and tugs him down, a surprising amount of strength from a man who’s in hospice. “If you hurt him, I’m going to haunt you. Got it?”

Zac gulps. “Got it.”

When they’re driving back from the hospital (Taylor at the wheel, Zac with his feet on the dashboard), Taylor turns to Zac.

“What did he say to you?” Taylor says. “When he pulled you close like that?”

“I think it was a death threat in reverse,” Zac says, laughing. “He’s going to haunt me if I hurt you.”

“He’ll be too busy chasing Nana around,” Taylor says. He reaches over and grabs Zac’s hand. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“As co-owner of our home, it’s something of a duty,” Zac says. He squeezes Taylor’s hand when he pouts. “I’m kidding. I love your crazy family. Though I must say, I’ve been looking forward to just hanging out. You know, Netflix and chill.”

They’re at a stoplight, so Taylor puts the car in park and actually glares at him. “We’re dating. You’re not trying to hook up with me.”

“We’re dating _and_ I’m trying to hook up with you,” Zac says. “The light’s green.”

Taylor fumbles to get the car into drive before someone beeps at him. “You’re gonna get it when we get home.” 

There’s always going to be a squabble. There’s going to be work with them. Taylor’s stubborn, Zac’s testy, they both blow up at each other. But hey, maybe there are perks to frustration. As Taylor shifts the steering wheel to turn onto the main highway, Zac notices he’s wearing Zac’s flannel underneath his jacket, one of his old ones that’s rubbed nearly threadless at the elbows. He’s wearing a hat that Zac hates and he needs to shave. Whatever Taylor’s dishing out, he’ll take. 

Zac smiles. “Can’t wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> makeup sex is the best sex!
> 
> (feel free to follow me on tumblr! i'm toallofourfavoriteparts. join me in being salty about zac's unfortunate facial hair)


End file.
